"You and Berry and Jonah," she said, "are far too sweet to me. And---- Oh, I can see myself in your eye, Boy. I can really." For a moment she stared at the reflection. "I don't think I look very nice," she added gravely. "However..." She kissed me abstractedly and started to fix the tress errant. "If Jonah asks you, don't say it's too short. It's not good for him. I'll have it lengthened all right." For the second time I began to relight my pipe... After examining the scene of her downfall, the witch caught at a slip of a bough and swung herself athletically to the top of the bank. Thence she turned a glowing face in my direction. "No, I shan't, after all," she announced. "It's much too convenient." Twenty minutes later we reached the point from which we had set out. Adèle was awaiting us with Ping. As soon as we saw her-- "Good Heavens!" cried Jill. "I quite forgot you were married. You ought to have been with Adèle." She ran to the car. "Adèle darling, what do you think of me?" "I am blind," said Adèle, "with jealousy. Anyone would be. And now jump in. Berry has taken the others to look at La Barre, and we're to follow them." Such of the landscape as I was bearing was thereupon bestowed in the boot, I followed my cousin into the car, and a few minutes later we were at the mouth of the Adour. Here we left Ping beside Pong, and proceeded to join three figures on the horizon, apparently absorbed in the temper of a fretful sea. As we tramped heavily over the shingle-- "You're not cross with me, Adèle?" "Why should I be, darling?" "Well, you see," panted Jill, "I've known him so long, and he's still so exactly the same, that I can't always remember----" "That he's not your property?" said my wife. "But he is, and always will be." Jill looked at her gravely. "But he's yours," she said. Adèle laughed lightly. "Subjects marry, of course," she said, smiling, "but they've only one queen." Which, I think, was uncommon handsome. Any way, I kissed her slight fingers.... As we reached our companions-- "I could stay here for ever," said Berry. "Easily. But I'm not going to. The wind annoys me, and the sea's not what it was before the War." "How can you?" said Daphne. She stretched out a pointing arm. "Just look at that one--that great big fellow. It must be the ninth wave." "Nothing to the York Ham--I mean the Welsh Harp--on a dirty night," replied her husband. "Why, I remember once ..." In the confusion of a precipitate retreat before the menace of the roller, the reminiscence was lost. It was certainly a magnificent spectacle.